take the wheels all the way home
by Janigkale
Summary: Artie, New York, crazy roommates, and too much sugar. Artie, headaches and getting drunk. Artie, Kurt, and Rachel.


If anything's inaccurate let me know; I'll fix it up! Thanks for reading! :)

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Energy drinks are starting to taste like absolute freaking poison, his fingers feel like they're falling off from the insane amount of typing that he's doing, and his head feels like it's going to splatter all over the walls. Artie's almost relieved when the TA says that the class is over for the weekend. He closes up his screenplay and wheels himself out of the class, even if he'd gladly fall asleep in his chair if he really wanted to.

He winces.

Nope. Not a good idea, at all.

He'd probably have cramps, and then he'd have to take Tylenol which is probably insanely unhealthy on top of all the energy drinks. And he probably wouldn't be able to sleep either. Crap.

Columbia is a harsh mistress, he muses as he slips his headphones on in the subway. Artie knows this; he'd wondered all the way back in Lima if he could handle the constant workload. Then again, Kurt and Rachel seemed in tip top shape at NYADA at the time. He almost grins at that.

He knows better now; he's seen them at their absolute worst, coming home at twelve from rehearsals and practice and it's freaking hilarious. But as his shoulder shifts in that way, he bites back a groan, a dull sharp pain climbing down to his fingers.

Screenwriting is freaking hard, and even if he's come up with a semblance of an idea, sometimes he'd like to wheel away and chuck his computer out the window. It's hard to capture life candidly without sounding dumb, and Artie finds himself backspacing a lot more than actual typing. Which sucks, but you know. Starving artists and all that jazz.

Did being a director qualify as that?

The silly thought occupies his mind all the way to Bushwick, all the way up to the loft, up until he hears Rachel singing in the shower. And then his headache starts again and he gives up, slipping down some Tylenol with some orange juice.

"Woman, pipe it down!" he yells, because if Rachel sings one more of her one woman shows then his head is probably to roll off his body on the floor. "Sorry," Rachel yells back, sheepish, and the song drifts to a steady murmur.

"Hey, is Kurt home?"

A pause, then Rachel again. "He said he's busy rehearsing his spring critique."

Dumping his bag on the side of his bed, he maneuvers his way in bed, not even bothering to change his outfit.

In about three seconds, he's asleep.

When he wakes up, he flings a pillow at whoever dared to do it, only for Kurt's voice to yell a muffled, "Hey!" and to fling a pillow back at him. He adjusts himself up and faces the fierce teal eyes. He grabs a pillow from underneath him, grins. "It is so freaking on, Hummel."

"I'm not going to go easy on you, Artie-" Kurt starts, finger up as if he's eloquently making a point, which is promptly ruined by the next pillow that is thrown in his face.

When it bounces to the ground, Artie notices that Kurt's hair is mess. And Kurt looks positively murderous.

Which is the reason why that when Rachel comes home, she sees the two of them out of breath, near passing out, and she just arches a delicate eyebrow and sips her soy latte. "It was Kurt's fault," Artie half heartedly says, but Kurt pokes him and he can't help but grinning.

Spring critiques come with incessant drinking which is probably not a good idea, considering all the glee club parties he can barely remember. Kurt's bipolar; he keeps switching between aggression and depression. As of now, he's crying in the corner, "Where's Blaine… he smells like candy…" and Rachel's laughing and slapping him on the back, before impressively downing another shot.

Artie is being _responsible_ , if responsible is halfway drunk, somewhere between tipsy and idiocy. He watches them with some interest, and then, for some reason, wheels over to his phone and clicks on a number.

(The next day, he'll get a confused voicemail from Mr. Schue on why everyone he seems to date leaves him, and one _slightly_ pissed one from Sue Sylvester that makes him sure that she's going to ruin his _life_.)

When Kurt and Blaine are back one of their afternoon dates, they stumble into the apartment, and seem on intently having their hands everywhere on each other. _Everywhere_. Artie pointedly looks away before Rachel huffs, and promptly wheels out the door with him in tow, ignoring his weak protests.

They end up on a corner near their apartment, and Artie gets the freaking nerve, and says, "Rachel Berry, you mind? You don't have a license." She rolls her eyes and they end up doing many things that night. It starts with the subway, and Rachel giggling, warm as fresh butter, at a guy who's wearing a full on replica of a Chewbacca suit. If Artie fanboys, he'll never admit it, even he feels Rachel's eyes burning, documenting every moment down as blackmail.

They manage to get discounted Broadway tickets to The Book of Mormon from the TKTS booth, which Rachel insists is totally up his alley, even through he's skeptical.

Artie comes out sides burning, still laughing, and he repeats clear in the air, "A warlord who shoots people in the face!"

Instead of reciprocating, Rachel just shakes her head, and sinks down next to him, laughing in his shoulder. In the slowly darkening evening, Artie thinks, even with her bossiness, insanity, and the fact that she can _really_ get pissed off when she wants to, he's lucky that he's got Rachel Berry with him.

Later that night, he calls Tina, and she teases him saying, "How's life like, living with Streisand and McQueen?" It's their little inside joke, and he grins. "Bearable. Bet NYC's more interesting than your tiny little state inside and out."

She snorts. "I _like_ Brown."

It's things like this that makes him miss Tina, little nothings in the space of conversations. Sometimes, even with Kurt and Rachel and Blaine and Sam, and his newly acquired film school friends, a part of him looks up for her, just waiting for her comebacks. It sucks, sometimes, having a voice so near, but a best friend so far away.

The next Friday later, his head still freaking hurts, and he's debating whether he should drop out of college and consider becoming a YouTube film star.

But Kurt and Rachel drag him off to a karaoke bar, and they sing old sings that leave them laughing, sometimes silent, sometimes crying. It's not perfect; they'll bicker and yell and scream about fairness and trust and friendship. They'll be times when the loft is too small with distrust or heavy silences. They'll be _that_ day, when Rachel doesn't get out of bed, Kurt won't talk, and he'll occupy himself with anything, anything, to get him to stop thinking about Finn.

But in the loft with the crappy TV, he's wondering with Kurt admonishing Dick Van Dyke's _seriously_ terrible accent (honestly, Puck could do better) and Rachel looking for her lemons (who even likes lemons) if he's okay with that.

And yeah.

Artie is.


End file.
